Time to Say Goodbye

The soaring violins of Time to Say Goodbye fill the hermetic chamber as I pull the door shut. The door seals with an expensive-sounding pressurized thud. Dave pulls his rumbling truck ahead of us; the world inside the Mercedes is self-contained. Sarah Brightman’s transporting soprano wraps us entirely in her evocative plaint. The clinically white gauges float in the dash. The 6-inch LCD command screen is equally bright. With the headlamps killed, Guillaume’s got the lighting exactly backward. We are essentially blind to the outside world, yet wholly visible to anyone looking in.

‘Please kill the music,’ Gloria says from the back seat.

Guillaume taps a dial at the upper left of the dashboard console, and the cabin grows silent. Given the new moon and the heavy smoke layer, it is an exceedingly dark night. The Mercedes’ displays are reflecting in the windshield, and Guillaume is squinting through the glare. The world outside, to the extent that we can make it out, feels surreally two dimensional. Only Dave’s taillights present any depth to our field of vision.

Guillaume fumbles with his left hand searching for the dial to dim the interior lights. Instead he finds the headlamps switch and inadvertently flips them on.

‘Merde!’ he flips the headlamps back off. He grasps the stalk to the left of the steering column. He twists the cap at the end of the stalk, activating the windshield wipers, which drag and scrape across the windshield.

‘Ah!’ Guillaume exclaims. Finally he jams his finger at the ON button on the command screen, and the console goes dark. This helps a little with the glare, although the floating white gauges are still reflecting in the windshield.

‘Merde!’ he mutters to himself. ‘Now no GPS.’

Dave takes a sharp right into an alley that runs along the north end of River Park. We cross a narrow concrete bridge over the ditch at the end of which a dusty track veers further to the right and drops onto a narrow ditch road. The Mercedes has extremely low suspension, and we scrape against some exposed rock or concrete as we follow the taillights. The yellow warning light on his dashboard lights up. Dave is kicking a ton of dust with his tires, and visibility is practically zero. Guy has only Dave’s taillights to guide us.

The ditch is to our right. The Rio Grande on our left. The path is narrow and overgrown with salt cedar which is scraping the sides of the sedan. Dave is driving fast in a truck that is made for this kind of terrain. The Mecedes is a sports sedan. We bottom out again, and again, the yellow warning light continuously flashing on.

‘Turn on the radio, Guy.’

Guillaume flips the radio on.

‘… as cockroaches do, now that we are shining a light they are scurrying for the darkness. The justice that has come for Pardo will soon ensnare all of these miserable scum.’

‘Hijole!’ Carl interjects over the refrain of La Cucaracha!. ‘Crazy that Pardo was just on the show this morning, acting like he was out here fighting wildfires, and it turns out he was actually a really bad dude. Like, just freaking wow, man!’

‘Well Carl that’s the problem with these cockroaches. They aren’t like us. They live in the shadows and they’re afraid of the light. Now they’re running scared, and we will catch them.’

‘That’s right, Harry,’ Professor Spanburger says. ‘It has been the case throughout history that when forces seek to undermine individual liberty they do so by stealth. But when push comes to shove, they have often shown themselves to be cowards. So I was not a bit surprised to learn that Alejandro Pardo, as a critical leader of the secret junta, hid behind his badge as a public safety officer to manipulate the system and to work covertly to undermine our freedoms. Nor was it particularly shocking to discover that when he was caught he didn’t stand and fight, but rather fled, and ended up dying face down in the dirt, shot through the back like a common dog.’

Carl laughs.

When the law breaks in, how you gonna go? Shot down on the pavement, or waiting in the hall?

Sandinista! sounds amazing rocking through Guillaume’s speakers.

‘If you’re just tuning in, you’re listening to Sierra County Fights Back!, our special coverage of the insurrection which has broken out this afternoon here in the county. This is 95.7 K-ROL, southern New Mexico’s home for the latest news and the greatest hits from the 70’s, 80’s, 90’s and today. You got Carl Montoya, Harry Barker and Professor Liam Spanburger in the studio. Don’t turn that dial! We will be right back after a brief word from our sponsors.’

The helicopter rotors are breaking the air. I turn around to peer out the back window. I see Gloria, in shadow, turning around as well. The helicopter’s searchlight crosses the cottonwoods and salt cedar maybe 200 yards behind.

Carl now: ‘Big update, y’all. We are hearing that police and Sovereign forces think the fugitives are now headed south toward Caballo. They have identified the famous winemaker Guillaume Fabriquet as the likely leader of the group. Police are saying new-comer Marion Vovk is involved, too.

‘Police and Sovereign forces say Fabriquet and Vovk are both armed and dangerous.’

‘Look Carl, at this point we need to call a spade a spade,’ Harry interjects. ‘These guys are domestic terrorists, plain and simple, and they need to be treated as such.’

‘Well I think that’s right,’ Professor Spanburger replies. ‘I think the primary question everyone is asking is what does it mean to recognize these individuals as domestic terrorists?’

‘Primarily what it means,’ Harry replies, ‘is that this has transitioned from a law enforcement situation into more of a military contingency, if you will. These are no longer criminals; they’re enemy combatants. As it relates to these individuals, this has become a shoot to kill situation.’

‘Aye yay yay!’ Carl jumps in with a laugh. It sounds like there’s a killer on the rampage! Speaking of which, here’s a blast from the past. It’s reggae, mon!’ A funky keyboard and guitar riff emerges from Guillaume’s amazing speakers. Guy lets the music vibe even as the yellow warning light on his dash flashes on and off and we scrape through the salt cedar. The white gauges reflect eerily in his windshield. He is straining to stay on the narrow ditch road. Dave’s bouncing taillights offer the only spatial cues to tac by.

‘How about that, mon?’ Carl asks when the track ends.

‘That really is something else, Carl,’ Harry replies. ‘So Professor Spanburger, if the fugitives should now be considered domestic terrorists and enemy combatants, what does that mean for their support network?’

‘That’s an important point, Harry, and I’m glad you’ve raised it now. As it relates to those who are providing aid and comfort to the coup plotters – be that financial support, logistical support or otherwise – such individuals or organizations should be advised that they are now culpable for the crimes of the coup plotters themselves.’

‘They are cockroaches,’ Harry snaps. ‘Same as though they plotted these evil acts themselves. If you are a Sovereign Citizen, if you are a loyal law enforcement officer or other public safety officer, if you are current or retired military, if you are just a normal, concerned citizen, this is a time of deciding. Are you ready to stand up for the constitution of the United States, as your fellow citizens have done this afternoon?’

‘Jefferson said,’ Professor Spanburger interjects, ‘that the tree of liberty must occasionally be refreshed with the blood of tyrants and patriots. He called such blood the tree’s natural manure. Harry is absolutely right. Now is the time for choosing.’

‘Thank you, Professor, that is well said. For our listeners, the question I have for you is, are you prepared to nourish the soil beneath the tree of liberty? Are you prepared to stamp out cockroaches wherever you find them? If the answer is yes then your time has come, and if it is no, then stay out of our way, because we are coming for the enemy, and we will prevail.’

‘You hear that bad boys?’ Carl intones. ‘We’re comin’ for youse, muchachos! And here’s the breakout hit Mis Tres Animales coming to you from K-ROL. Don’t turn that dial! We’ll be right back.’

I guess Guillaume doesn’t go for rollicking narcocorridoes, because he flips the radio off.

The rotors are louder now.

‘They got a bead on us,’ Gloria says.

There is silence in the cabin again. The Mercedes bottoms out again. The yellow warning light is flashing again, reflecting in the windshield. ‘Merde!’ Guy mutters. Again.

‘Okay. What do you want to know, Marion?’

‘Why did you want me to come to work for you, Guy?’

‘Ah, okay. I need someone that is accomplished with administration and organization. These are not the strong suits of Dave.’

‘I see. And what is it that you need administered and organized?’

‘Marion, when we arrive at the vineyard you will see. This organization is much more than you realize.’

‘So Harry’s right? You were planning a coup?’

‘No, Marion. It is quite the opposite. I am trying to support the legitimate authorities in the county. What you do not understand is that ‘arry and the others have been seeking to undermine that authority for some time. They have been arming the militias and radicalizing the population to bring in new recruits. What you experienced in Caballo today was no accident. At this point, the militias are stronger than the legitimate forces, and I think, given the way the police have behaved today, that they have succeeded in infiltrating the police as well.’

‘Marion,’ Gloria speaks softly from the rear, ‘Guy is telling you the truth. You know Ale. He isn’t what they are saying. You know that. He is a good man. And they killed him today. Marion – whether you believe in our cause or not we need you now. The kids need you.’

I turn my head to look at her. The dashboard light casts Gloria in a dim silhouette behind the bulky car seat.

‘Ok. What can I do?’

‘Right now just help us get through to the vineyard. Once we get there all I’m asking is that you listen to Guy with an open mind.’

‘I can do that,’ I say.

‘Good. Guy – turn the radio back on.’

‘… Sovereigns be aware a two-vehicle convoy is approaching your position,’ Harry intones.

The search beam lights up Dave’s truck for a moment as it sweeps across the ditch road, then quickly returns.

‘We have eyes,’ Harry says over the radio. ‘Illegal convoy,’ he says, speaking directly to us. ‘If you do not stop immediately Sovereign forces will take kinetic action to neutralize the threat.’

‘Aye yay yay!’ Carl intones. ‘Lights out, mutha-freakers!’

Rage Against the Machine explodes briefly through Guy’s amazing speakers. ‘Lights out! Guerilla Radio! Lights out! Guerilla Radio!’

I look out the back window again. Headlights have appeared, not more than 150 yards behind us. Suddenly Dave veers left and for a moment before Guy follows I see the head lamps of a couple more trucks across the river. Guy flips on his low beams, and the chaotic scene before us clarifies itself somewhat. At least now we can see Dave’s wide body through the windshield.

Several bright flashes illuminate the cabin, strobing in the mirrors and briefly blinding me. Guillaume’s profile flashes white on repeat, his dilated grimace seared into my retina when I close my eyes. The crack-crack-crack of projectiles fills the cabin. I look back through the rear view just as the thump-thump of the slower detonation sound wave reaches our ears. I see what looks like several brief orbs of white and orange flash from two points in the near distance, strobing on an off in rapid succession. Crack-crack-crack. Thump-thump.

Dave’s engine roars as he accelerates away from us. For a moment it appears his truck is sparking, as though it’s caught fire. The dirt explodes in several dusty geyers in Guilaume’s headlamps. Crack-crack-crack. Thump-thump. I had been expecting Dave’s brake lights to flash, signifying that this is where we make our stand, but now I realize he is going to ram the blockade.

I am not a brave man. The fear of confrontation keeps me up at night. For a week before a board meeting I cannot sleep. Fear builds inside of me, it compounds. A body in motion tends to stay in motion. A fear that started quiet and small will, in the ecosystem of my body, grow into a raw, aching terror. Fear makes my bowels run. Fear makes me cry. Fear finds such a home in my body that I simply, and truly, want to die – anything to escape the immobilizing anxiety. And yet, in a moment when another man might be immobilized by fear, such as when your vehicle is being assailed from several directions by men with guns, I do not feel fear. I don’t know how this could be, but somehow, in moments of acute chaos, my body relaxes.

And so when I realize that Dave is going to ram the blockade my natural inclination is to allow my body to relax. If I were behind the wheel we would have accelerated along with Dave into the breach. Unfortunately it is Guillaume behind the wheel, and everybody reacts differently to stress, and in his case, and as the square body shudders, rising and then crashing back down, creating an otherworldly thud that we feel in our bodies as much as we register with our ears, Guillaume panics and slams the breaks.

‘Do not stop, Guy! Drive!’ Gloria commands from the back seat, and he obeys.

But it is too late. The nose of the Mercedes is already pointed down when we hit the debris field of the exploded blockade. The oil pan and the radiator smash into the wreckage left in Dave’s wake. As debris comes down like hail stones on the hood and the headliner above us, the front member slams directly into the axle of a destroyed militia vehicle Dave has just pushed aside, shearing the oil pan and radiator from the undercarriage. The front suspension collapses and the car comes to a sudden halt, throwing us forcibly into our seat belts. Fortunately the air bags don’t deploy. A red warning light appears on the dash. STOP. MALFUNCTION. The hiss of coolant on the manifold. For some reason the CD player restarts, Sarah Brightman and Adrea Boccelli filling the entire cabin, joining their voices in a powerful duet above a moving chorus and strings.